


break away: part one

by vellaword



Series: break away [1]
Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Depressed Nick, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Martha Frances, adoptive dad nick, nick in many flavors of feelings, pedo vibes from fred waterford, someone get Frances a tag for f's sake she deserves it, the waterfords being horrible as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-01-04 23:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellaword/pseuds/vellaword
Summary: After June successfully flees Gilead with their daughter, Nick finds his purpose again through an unexpected bond.(a post-season 2 fic, based on a different kind of ending)(final chapter added august 21)





	1. sleeping with ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> i've been nursing this fic since the end of season 2 and i think it's time to finally start sharing!
> 
> in this version of canon, June leaves with Holly and Emily at the end of season 2. these are the events that could've followed her escape. the first part is Nick's story, next will be June's ❤
> 
> enjoy!

  
  
  
  


For Nick, there was never any closure after June and Holly left. They had slipped through his fingers without a trace, like a passing glance at someone you recognize before they disappear into a crowd. Simply gone.

When he saw June in the window that night, clutching their daughter to her chest with that resolute look on her face, Nick was ready. He could say he had been ready since the day he planned the first escape. But in the aftermath of the settling dust, he found himself wondering if things could have been different had he only gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Perhaps what made coping the most difficult was that there was nothing to remember her by. Only her uniform red dresses hanging in the closet and her rage etched into the wall. All Nick really had was the handful of memories they made together over the course of her explosive residence in the Waterford house. He was trying to gather them up like they were caught in a current, struggling to keep them close before they floated away from his grasp. And then there was Holly, with the memories of her cherubic face few and far between.

Mostly few.

Nick leaned his palms against the side of Holly’s empty crib, fingers clenching, staring into the gauze-veiled nursery window as he lost himself in remembering. The room smelled like sunflowers and Holly, and was filled with the soft glow of cloudy morning sun. He closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the singular memory of his little family together in this room.

The only picture he had of them.

Rita stepped in apprehensively, giving the door a knock light enough to get Nick’s attention without interrupting his reverie. But the spell was broken anyway. He peered at her over his shoulder, questioningly.

“Mrs. Waterford is about to leave for her mother’s. She might come in here,” she warned in a low voice. Nick had to heed it. They were both skating on extremely thin ice in this house already.

He sighed and rubbed his temples between thumb and forefinger, then turned away from Holly’s barren crib. He left the house, but he didn’t return to his apartment. Instead Nick pulled on his coat, tugged a pair of leather gloves over his hands and hopped into his car to find more work. His final refuge.

Later that night, Nick would finally have no choice but to return to the silence of his personal space, where the anxiety would creep into all corners of his mind. All he could think about was June and Holly, where they were and what they were doing. If they’re okay.

_If they’re alive._

He would stay awake in bed until the sun rose, his radio turned on and residing in the empty space next to his pillow. He listened all night, every night for signs of runaways getting caught. With each passing day the bags under his eyes grew darker and his patience thinner, as hope began to dwindle and it was getting to the point where they could only be gone, or dead.

Then finally the news came, in the sound of a chair being violently smashed against the wall of Fred Waterford’s office.

 

* * *

 

Nick was in the kitchen when he heard the racket, a cup of coffee poised at his lips. It made Rita flinch beside him, and they exchanged concerned looks. The house staff had been living in the presence of the Commander’s ire for the last five days now, but _this_ — this was something else.

The ceramic cup was set down on the counter with a minute clink, the noise a stark contrast to the cacophony a moment before. Nick braced himself for what he was about to deal with.

Fred had almost fully destroyed one of his wall shelves, leaving half of the room array with books and clutter that had once decorated them. The overturned chair sat in a corner, one of its legs broken off from the impact. Fred himself was hunched over in one of the chairs he didn’t throw— heaving, clutching his sore ribs, his face contorted in pain and anger.

Normally, he would’ve been pleased with the sight of Waterford having a breakdown. But the only thing on Nick’s mind was that the people expected to clean this mess up would be himself and poor Rita.

“You okay, sir?” Nick asked dutifully, but his voice was monotonous and he really didn’t care. In fact, it would please him if the Commander had cracked a rib again in this fit.

“My child… has been stolen,” Fred said through gritted teeth and labored breaths, “to Canada.”

When he turned his gaze to Nick there was a look in his eye that wasn’t that of a grieving father. It was the look of someone who had just lost a game they had very high stakes in. That’s all this ever was to Waterford.

To Nick, though— those words were _everything._ He felt as though the entire earth had been pulled out from beneath his feet. He strained to hold the blank expression on his face, to keep his breathing even and not to let it show that his heart was currently pounding out of his chest at the news.

His little Holly made it. She was finally out of their grasp.

But Fred didn’t mention June, and it wasn’t Nick’s place to ask. He _couldn’t_ ask.

The silence stretched between them and he waited, wishing with every part of him to hear the words. Instead, Fred slowly stood and hobbled out of the office, stopping only to give Nick the nastiest glare he’d ever seen. Then he left.

Nick let out the breath he was holding and leaned against a wall for support, laying his palm flat on it as he centered himself on the ground again. The exhaustion from lack of sleep caught up to him all at once, and after days of nauseating worry the news of his daughter’s freedom hit him square in the chest.

As did the _lack_ of news about June.

Rita appeared shortly after, stopping in the doorway. She was hesitant to enter without the Commander’s permission, but she stared at the mess with bitter disdain— until she noticed the expression on Nick’s face, then her demeanor shifted.

“Did they make it?” There was hope in her voice.

“Nichole did.”

That name burned on his tongue. But it made Rita smile, closing her eyes in relief, and that was enough for him.

“Thank God,” a beat, “and…?”

The words that he didn’t want to say hung in the air between them. Nick averted his eyes, and with the subtlest shake of his head he quickly turned to leave.

“There’s broken glass. I’ll get the broom—”

“Nick.”

Rita’s eyes were settled on the Commander’s desk, and when he followed her gaze he took pause. He found himself stepping forward, trying to make sense of what they both were seeing.

In Fred’s fury after reading the news, he’d left his laptop open.

Nick and Rita looked at each other, then she gave him a small nod of understanding.

“I’ll make sure no one comes in and hurts themselves on something,” she said, her eyes glinting with the hint in her words as she left him alone in the room.

He moved quickly.

Nick slid into the Commander’s desk chair, the soft leather giving a slight squeak in the deafening silence of his criminal act. It felt wrong to sit there, and it was. Fred could have him strung up on the wall for it. He flexed his fingers nervously, hovering a trembling hand over the laptop. He glanced at the open door, listening for footsteps that didn’t come. Then he scrolled through the news article like a bandit on the run.

It was surreal seeing the internet again, out here in the open like there was still a normal world outside of Gilead. But he couldn’t think about that. His eyes scanned frantically for only one word: Handmaid.

And there it was.

Not just one, but _two_ Handmaids carrying an infant had crossed the border into Canada. They made the national news now. There wasn’t a photo, but Nick knew it was her. It had to be her.

He released the breath he’d been holding. Pleasant memories of June flooded him with warmth.

June.

She did it.

_They made it._

 

* * *

 

Even with good news to digest, the second week without June was arguably worse. As was the third, and so on. This was when the depression settled into Nick’s soul like a bog, pulling him deep into the mud where he couldn’t breathe.

He used to plan his day around stealing moments with June. In the morning he’d sip his coffee with Rita in the kitchen, waiting to hear her come down the stairs so they could share a piece of toast together. In the afternoon he’d take breaks between his errands to bump into her in the solarium so they could sneak a conversation, glancing touches off each other’s hands. Sometimes – if he was truly lucky enough – in the evening he’d tiptoe into her room so they could share kisses under the cover of darkness.

Now, in all the spots June had once filled in Nick’s life, there was nothing but cold and bitter emptiness.

Eden was gone too, and somehow that made it ironically worse. Not that long ago he wanted more than anything to be able to go back to his apartment and seek the solace of silence. He wished that he could have a space to himself, where he could be himself. Now, that was _all_ he had.

Whenever Nick thought about Eden, all the excruciating guilt from her execution flooded through him again. The image of her body floating in the pool like a little doll was still crystal clear in his mind’s eye, and it always will be— serving as a vivid reminder of what Gilead is. But the stabbing pain of regret made him feel something other than crippling loneliness, so he made himself think about it on nights like these. Nights when he felt like the only person left in the world.

Nick opened his front door and lit a cigarette, rubbing his puffy, tired eyes with the ball of his palm. He still wasn’t sleeping much better, either too much or hardly at all. He also started having night terrors, which may have happened once or twice while June was here— but now they were becoming a regular part of his nights.

And it was all finally catching up to him.

His familiar spot on the stairs was still cold in the evening, but not unbearably so. Nick perched himself there, staring up at the dark window of June’s room, his heart yearning for that which he knows he will not see. He took a long drag of nicotine, the warm glow illuminating his face.

He couldn’t go on like this.

Living with no reason to, Nick found himself slipping into the familiar numbness he felt after Joshua died. Those early days of Gilead were a blur. He moved on auto-pilot back then, driving Commanders where they told him, tuning out the repugnant conversations he didn’t want to hear so he could stare into the stretching road and fantasize about what it would be like to drive the car off a bridge. Losing himself in illegal whiskey and Beth’s lips around his cock to feel something other than contempt for himself and the slow collapse of normalcy around him.

When the first Offred hanged herself to escape the sheer misery of the Waterford household, Nick found purpose in revenge. Collecting his evidence and watching Commanders get executed one by one until he could one day see Fred get dragged away in cuffs as well. It was a straightforward mission, with a clear resolution. No attachments.

Then June came along and changed the whole meaning of purpose. With her tenacious eyes and her naked invincibility, she tore Nick and his principles down, then built him up again as a better version of himself.

Now she was gone, too.

Nick needed a reason again. He tapped the ash of his cigarette off the side of his stairs, looking up at the bright, full moon. Its light was comforting. He felt a pull in his chest, as though somewhere far away in Toronto, June was looking up at this same moon right now.

The thought struck him then.

_Hannah._

The only thing on June’s mind now would be Hannah. He knew as broken as his heart was, it was nothing compared to the anguish of a mother who had to leave her child behind. June was strong, God knows, but she was still human— and that pain would follow her for every day for the rest of her free life.

Even though she was gone, there was still one more thing he could do for her. And that was a purpose Nick so desperately needed now.

Stubbing his cigarette out, he rose to his feet and went back inside his apartment. Digging through drawers and cubbies, he retrieved an old, worn notepad and a dull pencil. Nick recalled the names of every Guardian and Martha he knew, and armed with knowledge he didn’t have before, he set to work on a new plan.

A better plan.

 

* * *

 

The first time Nick visited the Mackenzie summer home himself, he was sure he was going to die.

During the final month of the cold season, he had cashed in every favor he had and used every bribe he could afford just to make this contact. From Marthas to Guardians, Guardians to drivers, he tapped into all the networks he knew. Weeks of alley whispers and backchannels, and in the end his prayers were answered by the young driver for the Mackenzie family, Michael. Nick had been assigned to train the newly appointed chauffeur years prior, and he was the first person in the Sons of Jacob to treat him with a semblance of genuine kindness. Michael held a great deal of respect for Nick, and was willing to help in any way he could. That was the final missing link.

So when winter thawed and the spring bloom came, Michael came through. He sent word through their code over the radio that the Mackenzies were at the lake house for the summer. Nick’s heart was pounding with trepidation when he received it— that meant the time was now, or never. He responded and arranged the first, and most important meeting.

And that day was finally here.

Fred was keeping him on a tight leash, but Nick bought himself enough time to drive there and back, with thirty minutes to spare. All that planning, meeting and sacrifice, and it came down to _thirty minutes._

Still, he _needed_ to do this. Not just for June, but because it was the right thing to do. He wouldn’t care about losing his own life and soul to Gilead— but he certainly cared if Hannah did. And that gave him all the motivation he needed to try, at any risk, and any cost.

They key to his slow-growing plan was earning her confidence. Nick realized a long time ago – when he first made that promise to June that he’d find her – that the chances of getting a child alive out of Gilead would be slim without some kind of foundation of trust. Hannah would have to run when told, hide when needed, and most importantly— stay quiet.

There was also a part of Nick that simply wanted to get to know June’s daughter. Whether or not she had been indoctrinated by now, Hannah was still the last thread of his fraying connection. He had to hold onto that with everything he had.

Maybe – if he was lucky – he could even see a bit of Holly in her.

But today, he only needed to convince Hannah not to say something that will get him killed. So there Nick stood, behind a decrepit shed in a tiny forest clearing a quarter-mile away from the Mackenzie house, surrounded by enough trees to hide the area from view. He’d parked his car further up the road just in case.

A creek trickled peacefully nearby, the sound doing nothing to calm Nick’s nerves. His foot tapped in the dirt, his fingers clenched and flexed. He was anxious, but couldn’t relieve it with a cigarette no matter how badly he wanted. That could be too risky.

Someone was approaching through the foot trail now, getting closer to his position. Soft, muted voices. Small steps. Nick listened for radios, and when he heard none he finally stepped out from behind the shed.

There she was, dressed all in pink as any good Gilead girl would be, cheeks a tad flushed from the walk. Hannah stared at him, her expression wary. As was her Martha’s.

“I have to return with her in twenty-five minutes,” she said curtly, obviously not pleased with the idea of being involved in another criminal reunion.

That gave him even less time. Nick exhaled sharply. “Okay,” he breathed, and cautiously came forward.

Hannah never took her eyes off Nick as he approached them, but she bowed her head in shy uncertainty and huddled closer to the Martha, half hiding behind her skirts. Nick stopped – close enough to read Hannah’s expression, but far enough to give them distance – and squatted down to her height.

He could see reflections of June in her face, in the shape of her mouth and eyes. It hit him hard how much he missed her, but he couldn’t think about that now. Nick swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Hey, Agnes,” he used her Gilead name, hoping the familiarity of it would ease some of the discomfort.

“We’ve met before. I was with your mom— your birth mom,” he clarified. “Remember me?”

Hannah nodded. So she’s good at remembering faces. They were off to a decent start, at least.

“My name is Nick.”

Hannah tilted her head to the side, considered, and then: “My name wasn’t always Agnes.”

Nick’s breath came out in a chuckle. Matter of fact, just like her mother.

“Which name do you prefer?”

She looked up at her Martha for guidance, as if it were a test. The Martha gave an encouraging nod, but Hannah still directed her gaze to the ground instead of answering. She must have learned a sharp lesson about her name once, and the realization of that made his jaw clench.

They were at a dead end. Nick glanced at his wristwatch. He was running out of time, and Hannah was looking more nervous now, tugging at her Martha’s skirt in a silent plea to leave. The possibility of failure today sent a shiver up his spine. So in an effort to try a different approach, he reached into the pocket of his coat and revealed something he knew Hannah hadn’t seen in years. The ace up his sleeve. His last resort.

It was a yo-yo.

Bright red plastic with little flashing rainbow lights inside when it moved. It was a little thing, but it was everything you’d _never_ find in a dull place like Gilead.

“Ever seen one of these?”

Hannah’s lips twitched in the slightest smile, and a glimmer of curiosity appeared in her eye at the sight of the toy. The answer was obvious to her: “Of course.”

Nick rose to his feet to give the yo-yo a demonstration. It spun fluidly from his palm, then hit the ground before reaching the end of its string with a soft _thud._ Its lights flashed derisively in the dirt and Nick frowned, legitimately disappointed in himself. Hannah let out a small giggle at his misfortune, and the Martha eyed him skeptically.

“It isn’t as easy as it looks,” he said in his defense and picked up the toy, winding the string back inside.

Then a miracle happened. Hannah stepped away from her Martha and toward Nick instead. She slid easily into childlike determination— like it has been there all along, buried somewhere deep inside of her. “I can do it,” she said, as she reached toward Nick with outstretched fingers.

Waves of relief washed over him and loosened his tense shoulders at this small sign of success. The first genuine smile in weeks filled his face. Nick passed the yo-yo into her hand. That was all it took.

There she was. Nick’s purpose, taking hold of his heart with a tiny fist. Her name was Hannah.


	2. be that as it may

As a diligent Guardian of the Waterford household, springtime only meant one thing for Nick: yard work.

This year, the Commander was working him _extra_ hard. It came as no surprise; Fred was still watching and waiting for an opportunity he could leverage into gaining the upper hand. Nick wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction, so to the best of his ability he had been digging up the garden, laying down fresh gravel, painting the house, and other menial but physically demanding tasks. His muscles ached, but the Waterford house had never looked better.

Nick was now perched atop a creaky ladder, scooping a handful of old, soggy leaves from a clogged gutter. He dumped them unceremoniously into a wheelbarrow beside him, and squinted down at himself in the mid-morning sun. There was decayed plant matter splattered on his neat tie and ironed slacks. He wasn’t allowed to wear anything else, so he had to tolerate it.

He didn’t mind the work itself. The exercise felt good. And most of the time the tasks kept his mind busy enough not to linger on June too much.

Most of the time.

The all-familiar, crippling pain in his chest followed the thought of her. The question of where she was and what she could be doing right now plagued him daily. Their daughter would be three months old next week. He tried to picture what Holly would look like now, what she could do at that age. What milestones he would never get to be a part of.

He dropped another handful of rotting leaves into the wheelbarrow with an unpleasant _splat._ The world began to spin as the doubts creeped in. They made him wonder if he did the right thing by not stopping June that night. What could have been different had he been selfish enough to tell her _wait, don’t go, I can’t lose you._

He needed a break.

Nick climbed down from the ladder and picked up the tall glass of ice water Rita had left behind for him earlier. He was grateful for it now as he gulped it down, then closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing evenly through his nose. The force of missing June and Holly was something else, and at times it hurt so bad it could take the wind out of him. But he was adapting, so he trained his thoughts on another subject— a happier one.

These days, that was Hannah.

He had only been able to visit her a handful of times thus far. The plan was simple enough: they had a scheduled time when the Mackenzie’s Martha would take Hannah on her afternoon walk. Sometimes Nick would be there, sometimes he couldn’t. Either way, Hannah kept their secret even though she had no reason to. That meant something.

The most difficult part was being able to leave the house when Fred was keeping him close by with an endless list of manual assignments. But Nick was crafty enough to find the means to sneak away, just as he did during June’s days at the Globe.

He finished off his water and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Today probably wouldn’t be one of those days. A part of him wondered if Hannah was ever disappointed when he didn’t show up at their little spot in the forest. He certainly was.

Hannah was beginning to grow on Nick in more ways than he bargained for. Her wit and bravery could get as fierce as her mother’s— and sometimes, when she got that mischievous glimmer in her eyes, he would be taken aback by the resemblance. It made him ache and yearn for June, but also in a way it made him proud. He felt the unshakeable need to do right by Hannah as if she were his own family, and to make her world a better place in any small way he could.

Their bond – however small and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things – was quickly becoming the most fulfilling thing in his life right now.

And should he never make it out of Gilead, Nick wanted Holly to have a sister like Hannah. Of course, he wanted to see Holly grow up more than _anything—_ but he couldn’t promise anyone that, not even himself. With Hannah being there for her, to lend her strength and compassion as Joshua once did for him, he knew his daughter would be alright without him.

Nick couldn’t help but smile at his daydream of Hannah and Holly together. It was a small tug of the corner of his mouth, but the kind that lit up his whole face. For a brief minute he allowed himself to feel a glimpse of that happiness as he gazed up at the cottonball clouds drifting across a picturesque blue sky, imagining a life for his girls that would be better than this one.

Then Nick slipped his Guardian mask back on, climbed up his ladder and returned to work. He never even noticed the intrusive gaze of Serena Joy Waterford watching him closely from her greenhouse, her brows knitted in scrutiny.

 

* * *

 

It was another perfect spring day.

Sunlight was streaming through a canopy of forest leaves, and Hannah was blowing bubbles that glistened iridescent in it. They floated around her in a dreamlike arrangement as she spun in circles, giggling, then falling flat on her back among the tall grass once she was dizzy enough.

“Careful there,” her Martha cautioned, her voice kind yet firm. Nick chuckled, earning himself a glare. He was the reason she was so roused up right now. He made a point to never show up empty-handed, whether it was an illegal toy from the underground or stolen snacks from Rita’s kitchen. One little gift at time, he was reintroducing Hannah to the childhood she had been robbed of.

The Mackenzie’s Martha wasn’t much for conversation, so it took a few visits for Nick to finally learn her name— Frances. She showed little interest in him otherwise, she was there exclusively to keep a close eye on Hannah during their meetings. Meetings she only allowed because – as they each unknowingly had in common – she wanted to give the child a better life, even in the smallest of ways.

And maybe a part of her pitied Nick Blaine, too.

Hannah hoisted herself onto her feet and trotted through the tall grass to Nick’s parked Mercedes, where he and Frances were sitting side by side in the open tailgate. Nick diligently held out the bottle of bubble solution for Hannah to collect a refill as he had done for the last twenty minutes. But instead she dropped the small wand inside the bottle and crammed herself into the empty space between them, her short legs dangling above the ground.

“Time for a break?” Nick asked, capping the bubbles and sharing his water with her instead. Hannah sipped from it, shrugging her shoulders.

“What do we say?” Frances urged, giving her a nudge.

Hannah paused between sips to mumble obediently, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He tucked her bubbles in a nook underneath the back seat of his car, hiding it from view. He had to do this every time he brought her a gift. And because she could never keep them, he made sure to always bring them back— occasionally with the surprise of something new.

“Where did you get this stuff from, anyway?” Hannah asked as she watched him with observant eyes.

Nick chewed his lip, pondered how exactly to answer.

“Black market.”

Frances threw a hard glance in his direction, a brow raised in concern. Too late. He found himself incapable of lying to Hannah, even for his own discretion.

“What’s a black market?” she continued in genuine curiosity, just as they both expected. Nick frowned and struggled to find a way to put it in terms an eight year-old can understand.

“You trade with someone in secret... for something you’re not supposed to have.”

“It’s forbidden?”

Nick nodded, a part of him chiding himself for openly confessing his crimes to a child. There was a long beat of silence, and he thought the subject had escaped her attention until Hannah asked simply and matter of factly: “Are they going to put you on the wall?”

The air chilled suddenly at those words. Nick and Frances both froze as the brutal reality of Gilead settled over them like a dark cloud. There truly was no escape from it, not even on perfect spring afternoons such as this.

“No,” Nick said with a hint of reassuring smile, hoping to put an end to the tension. But he didn’t know if it was to reassure her or himself. “I’m too careful.”

Hannah tilted her head as she absorbed all this information, only for a moment. Then she hopped down to the ground and turned to look at her Martha.

“Can I visit the ducks before we go?”

And just like that, everything returned to normal. Frances nodded, gathering the young girl’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Five minutes. Then we leave.”

Hannah ran through the grass to the nearby creek, leaving them rattled by what just happened. Birds chirped pleasantly as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Nick let out the breath he had been holding. It terrified him that death was so normalized here that it wasn’t even an abstract concept to children, but it also reaffirmed just how imperative it was to get her out. He was on the right path.

“I know what you’re planning, Guardian Blaine,” Frances broke the quiet first, her voice serious and knowing as she looked right at him. His back stiffened. She had never addressed him directly like this before.

“What?” he scoffed.

“She’s right, you know. Every one of these visits puts you closer to that wall. I know you’re not coming here because you’re lonely. You want to get her out.”

Unable to figure out how to argue that without lying, Nick chose silence.

“I won’t let you do it,” she paused, and then, “that child is safe right where she is. It’s one thing if you want to risk your life, but I won’t let you risk hers.”

Nick sighed and slid himself off the tailgate, turning his back to Frances. He gazed at the stretching pines of the forest, clenched and unclenched his fingers as he considered how to respond.

Because she was right.

But so was he.

He watched Hannah carefully approach a family of ducks, her pink dress fluttering behind her as she bent down to see them closer. She looked humble and happy, washed in sunlight and living in her moment without fear. Nick knew once she returned to the Mackenzies all that would change, and she would put on her own mask and return to a life dictated by grim austerity. Just like the rest of them.

It wasn’t a life worth living.

Through gritted teeth Nick spoke the only truth he knew – or hoped – Frances herself must realize deep inside.

“She’s not safe here,” he looked at her over his shoulder, and this time she looked away, “she never will be.”

 

* * *

 

Nick could go days barely speaking a word to the Waterfords. Now that their mutual disdain was an open secret, there was no more need for false formalities. This was evident in the rhythmic ticking of a blinker, the only sound in the strained silence of the Mercedes as Nick drove the Commander to his office. He preferred it this way; making small talk with Fred was never pleasant. Most of the time they were even separated by the divider, which Nick could close anytime for so-called safety reasons.

Today he wished he did.

“I noticed the car was gone yesterday. Did you go somewhere, Nick?” Fred said without any prompt, but with an air of meticulously crafted nonchalance.

Nick’s stomach dropped instantly, the chill of fear reaching deep into his bones. He was with Hannah yesterday. He glanced at his rearview mirror, trying to read where this was going in the reflection of Fred’s face, but his emotions were carefully hidden behind a polite half-smile. As if this were just a regular conversation. But Nick knew better, because there was nothing normal about the Commander talking about anything other than himself.

“Took the car in for maintenance, sir,” he answered, simply, hoping that was the end of it.

“Huh. Maintenance…” Fred took on a patronizing tone now, the kind that grated his nerves like nails on a chalkboard, “is there something wrong with the car? I can have it switched out for another today.”

Nick’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. He was planning to make another quick visit to Hannah while Fred was in his meetings today, so he had a couple of her toys hidden strategically within the car. If _anyone_ were to find them, he’d be strung up in a heartbeat.

He had to think fast. He cleared his throat, kept his voice neutral and even.

“No need. It was just routine, sir.”

Fred frowned.

“Seems like there has been a lot of... routine maintenance, lately.”

Nick cursed silently and drummed his thumb against the steering wheel. Now he was really getting worried. The Commander was too stupid to notice things like that, and it was starting to sound like he wasn’t just talking about the car.

“It’s just due time,” a pause, then with his words sweetened in the honey of respect, he added, “if the car needs replacing I’ll let you know, Commander Waterford.”

Fred had nothing more to say. He simply turned his gaze back to the world passing outside his backseat window, but now with an unusually thoughtful expression. Nick exhaled a shaky breath as quietly as possible, grateful to finally pull up to the block of office buildings.

Nick shifted the vehicle into park and stepped out to obediently open the door for Waterford, who left without another word. He climbed back into the driver’s seat and as soon as Fred was out of sight, he slammed his palm against the steering wheel with a curse. If the Commander was onto him, it wouldn’t end well for anyone. Not for him. Not for Frances. Certainly not for Hannah.

And he would put his life on the line before he let Fred lay a finger on Hannah.

Turning over the engine, Nick steered the car in the direction of home and resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to risk a trip to the lake house today after all.

 

* * *

 

One thing was true about Gilead, growing up in it killed a child’s spirit. A regime like this had only one goal: to strangle all the life and light out of each generation until they became empty vessels, ready to be filled with subservience and God’s word.

But the more Nick visited Hannah, the more he could see her light shine through the depths in which it was hidden away. Some moments were darker than others. It never escaped Nick’s notice when she would go quiet and gaze at nothing far into the distance, the mirth in her brown eyes replaced with dull emptiness. It was that subtle glow of hope beneath the surface that he reached out for.

In the beginning he kept his distance, simply allowing Hannah the time to get used to him. Now, he was working his way up to bringing her guard down. He wanted her to feel comfortable with being herself in their little meadow oasis. He made it clear from the start that she can ask him anything, and he would always answer with truth. And most importantly, no topic was forbidden.

Hannah’s strict upbringing with the Mackenzies crippled her with fear of discipline. But he could see her warming up to the environment he was building, one afternoon at a time. Their visits were always different. Sometimes she would occupy herself with his gifts as they walked or sat together in silence. Sometimes they would talk. Sometimes both.

Recently, Nick started to ask Hannah questions about her likes and preferences, usually in an effort to coax out a fond memory from her life before. He noticed her face would brighten— not like it did when she saw baby ducks or received a new toy, but in a way he’d only seen when June would reminisce about another life where she still had her family.

Hannah didn’t notice what he was doing. She simply liked talking, so in return she would ask him questions about, well, everything— as children do. And slowly, without either of them realizing, she was thawing the ice that had built up around his heart from the numbing loss of June.

“Chocolate or vanilla?” Nick asked as they were taking a stroll together through a path in the woods. Their visit today included an ongoing game of either-or questions. He often learned the most about her during conversations like this.

“Vanilla,” Hannah answered without hesitation. She was playing with the red yo-yo while she walked at his side, and she was rapidly getting better at it. Nick never realized just how easily kids can pick up a skill, and it made him wonder if Holly would be just as fast a learner.

Martha Frances lingered a short distance behind them, giving them privacy but never letting Hannah out of her sight.

“Hot chocolate or pizza?” Hannah looked up at him and grinned impishly. He was starting to get the impression that she enjoyed giving him the most difficult choices she could come up with just to watch him struggle.

“Hmmm,” he pondered aloud. He really had to think about this one. “Hot chocolate,” he finally decided.

“Noooo! But what about _pepperoni_ pizza?”

“Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”

Hannah sighed with exaggerated relegation. Nick ignored it and upped the ante on difficult choices, one he knew would stir up her imagination.

“Unicorn or pegasus?”

Hannah didn’t answer right away, instead she whirled the yo-yo in an attempt to “walk the dog” and this time she was finally successful— the toy spun at the end of the string for a couple seconds before she pulled it back up, hopping around with a victorious hoot. Martha Frances raised a brow, but otherwise said nothing. The trees were too dense for her voice to carry very far, anyway.

“Did you see that?!” she beamed, looking up at Nick with the widest grin he’d ever seen. His heart melted.

“Hey nice one,” he smiled proudly and pulled her against his side to give an encouraging squeeze, then let her go on and try and repeat her success. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Pegasus,” Hannah said absently, attention divided between her yo-yo tricks and the conversation. Nick had to put two hands on her shoulders and steer her around a rather large rock in the path before she tripped on it, since she clearly wasn’t looking where she was walking.

“Really?” he frowned, just as surprised by her choice as she was by his, “over _unicorns_?”

“One question each. Remember?” she fixed him with a steely glare and pointed one small, incriminating finger his direction, making him chuckle. He knew she got that from June, and a lump caught in his throat at the thought of her, as it always did.

_June._

It was starting not to hurt quite as badly as it used to. The name crossed Nick’s mind like a seaside breeze carrying the scent of nostalgia. He breathed it in now. He only wished June could see Hannah like this. He wished she had the chance to reconnect with her daughter, like he was doing. He wished with every fiber of his being that she could be here at his side, laughing at Hannah’s unbridled persistence along with him.

“If I let you ask two, can I ask one more?” Nick inquired.

“Sure.”

“What makes a pegasus better than a unicorn?”

Hannah’s answer was simple.

“They can fly.”


	3. love is wasted in the dark

Nick used to plan his days around June. Now, it was all about Hannah.

In between visits he would come up with questions to ask, topics to bring up. It was his personal reprieve from an otherwise dull and unfulfilling life serving a family he despised. But lost in his daydreams, he’d catch himself smiling over nothing more often— which never escaped the notice of Rita.

“What’s got you so cheerful?” she finally confronted Nick one day in the kitchen as he sipped her tea. Her brows were raised as she fixed him with a questioning stare, and he knew there was no getting out of it this time. It was impossible to dodge her when she read him like a book. But he couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, either— the less people who knew of his arrangement at the Mackenzie summer house, the better. He wasn’t about to make Rita his accomplice to kidnapping.

“Just... thinking about my daughter,” he chose his words carefully. It was a bold enough statement to make out loud that Rita wouldn’t take it lightly, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. Not only because Holly was _always_ on his mind, but because his outings with Hannah made him feel a semblance of an opportunity that Gilead had stolen. 

His chance to be a father.

Rita smiled fondly with a hint of sadness, reminding Nick that he wasn’t the only one who had that kind of connection.

“I miss her, you know,” she admitted in a whisper loud enough for only him to hear, “both of them.”

“Me too,” Nick sighed and turned to face the window, gazing into the beams of morning sun through the glass. He didn’t know what else to say. The tears that stung his eyes came on suddenly, reminding him of everything he had lost last winter.

In a rare display of affection, Rita came to Nick’s side and rested her temple against his shoulder. In return, Nick laid his cheek atop her head. And for a long moment they stayed like that, before wordlessly separating to go about their chores.

Later that day, when Nick sat beside another Martha in that secret meadow, he felt inspired by Rita’s earlier candidness. So as Hannah distracted herself with a squirrel that was trying to steal her snacks, he turned to Frances and broke with the quiet between them with an honest admission.

“I have a daughter.”

Frances blinked, looking at him with a puzzled expression. Absorbing what he’s trying to say.

“From... before?”

“After.”

He could see the gears turning, the confusion giving way as realization dawned. In Frances’ mind’s eye she could still picture the heavily pregnant Handmaid at the reunion the Commanders had arranged. Back then her instincts told her there was something different about her— and she was right.

“Hannah’s mother,” she said with an air of understanding.

Nick nodded. Then he scoffed in a dark tone, “she was born here. In that house. A lot happened that day. June did it all by herself.”

Frances didn’t know which was more shocking: the fact that he used the Handmaid’s real name so openly, so comfortably— or the weight of the information he had just handed her. Whatever happened in that house, it was covered up so well she never would have guessed. No wonder, too. If what Nick said was true, the events of that day would have been a calamitous scandal for _everyone_ involved. And the thought of giving birth alone truly scared her.

She didn’t understand why he was being so talkative today all of a sudden. But a part of her – the part that yearned for connection as much as any human would – was touched beyond words that he chose her.

“I have a daughter, too,” Frances confessed, since they were sharing truths today. It was the most personal thing she’s said out loud in years, and feeling the word on her tongue again was cathartic.

“What’s her name?” Nick asked.

“Isabel. And yours?”

His gaze settled on the horizon as he got lost in a faraway thought. She could tell by the crinkle in his eyes and the softness of his smile that whatever he was imagining right now, it was a memory he held very close to his heart.

“Holly.”

 

* * *

 

Fred Waterford was tersely silent as Nick escorted him across the river to Jezebels. He followed his duties cordially enough, but once the Commander was out of sight and lost to the throngs of dancers and sin, that was when he could finally breathe and be himself.

He did his usual rounds— checking in on the Marthas and Guardians, who only spoke so freely in this particular place of abandon. It was a separate world here. One where the working class weren’t chained down by their roles, but used them to their advantage.

Nick was no different.

“Thanks for the business,” Beth waved her pinky finger at him as she carried in both arms a large box of contraband he had smuggled in. He would have carried it for her, but she was always too stubborn to let him. So instead Nick stood aside, unrolling his sleeves and giving her a genuine smile that she rarely got to see. She thought twice of it, but didn’t question. Beth was simply grateful for his limitless sincerity. Nick was grateful that she never asks him to explain anything.

With his customary errands finished, he pushed through the back door and stepped into the alley behind the kitchen for a smoke. He glanced at his wristwatch. Fred would be wrapping up his sleazy dealings inside soon, and Nick had only one final task for today. He stood near his black Mercedes, waiting, taking long drags of his cigarette as he glanced around for a familiar contact.

A metal door further down the empty alley swung open, and one gruff looking Guardian stepped outside and turned toward him. Nick wasn’t worried; he was expecting this meeting. He tossed his cigarette, ground it under his heel and straightened his back.

“Guardian Blaine.”

“Adam,” Nick addressed him by first name, dropping the act. “Did you find it?” he asked in a low voice, switching quickly into business mode.

“Sure did,” Adam gave him a small black plastic bag, looking pleased with himself, “got both of ‘em.”

Nick eyed the man across from him apprehensively, but when he untied the bag and glanced inside, he let out a scoff of astonishment upon realizing his absurd request actually came through.

“Thanks,” he opened the door of his car and tucked the bag under the driver’s seat— from whence he retrieved another. This bag was significantly smaller, but heavy with the weight of pills. He handed it over, “here’s the Fentanyl. Your other shipment is on schedule. Two weeks from now.”

Adam glanced around as he tucked the bag of pills into the inner pocket of his coat. Both men fixed each other with a look of mutual understanding. Nick never liked to ask unless he had to, and in this case he didn’t want to answer any questions in return. Everything about this particular transaction was sketchy, as most things that went on in this building. So he gave his comrade a nod goodbye.

“Under His eye.”

As Adam hastily crept out of sight, Nick closed the door of the car and leaned against it. He lit another cigarette like nothing had ever transpired.

 

* * *

 

Hannah and Frances were perched side by side atop a scratchy wool blanket strewn across the grass, under the shade of a large oak tree. Nick joined them, seating himself in the empty spot beside Hannah and handing her a brown paper bag full of grapes he’d lifted from Rita’s kitchen. Her favorite snack. It wasn’t always either-or questions and illegal toys— the three of them often just enjoyed quiet summertime moments together like this.

“Thank you,” Hannah beamed. The weather was seasonably warm, so her curls were loose from her bonnet, shoes kicked off, dress bunched up to her knees so she could feel a breeze on her legs. At home, she would be punished for being so shameful in her appearance. But here, she was just a kid trying to cool off.

It was so hot that even Frances had taken her shoes off. She wiggled her toes in the grass, relishing in the feeling.

Nick stretched out, leaning back on his palms, his short-sleeved button up baring his arms to the sunlight he desperately needed after such a long winter. Hannah tossed grape halves at the appreciative resident family of ducks near the bubbling creek. Much to her dismay, all of the baby ducks were mostly grown and gone by now. But she still had a few friends left.

Nick outstretched a hand and Hannah obligingly dropped a grape in it. He chucked it toward the ducks with a little too much force— the grape bounced off the ground and hit a duck in the tail, making it and its flock scatter. His eyes narrowed. Just his luck. Hannah let out a giggle hidden behind a palm.

“They’ll come back,” she said, matter-of-factly, “my mom said grapes are a duck’s favorite food.”

“Yeah? Do you have a duck pond at your other house?” Nick asked, casually making conversation.

“No,” Frances fixed Hannah with a chilling stare, “we don’t.”

Nick straightened, a pit opening up in his stomach. Of course she wasn’t talking about the Mackenzies. He suspected she hardly even saw the people who called themselves her parents. From what he had gathered, Frances was the closest thing Hannah had to a parental figure now.

“Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to talk about her,” Hannah winced, shrinking into herself with an ingrained fear.

“It’s okay,” Nick said a little too quickly. He cleared his throat, willing his muscles to relax as he tried not to put the child on the spot. He looked at Frances for help, “it’s fine, right?”

She put on an amicable, motherly smile and rubbed reassuring circles on Hannah’s back, reminding her in a gentle voice that it was safe to talk about these things here. Hannah visibly relaxed. Sometimes, he didn’t know what he would do without Frances.

“Do you think about her?” he pressed cautiously. Not wanting to open up old wounds.

“Sometimes. At night, when I’m supposed to be asleep—” she shot Frances an apologetic look, “I miss her singing to me before bed. Or reading.”

An icy cold fist closed around Nick’s heart. He breathed evenly through his nose and swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if somewhere in Toronto, June was singing Holly to sleep this very moment.

“Want to know where she is now?”

Frances and Hannah both looked at Nick with two very different expressions; one curious, one wary. In the back of his mind a voice was screaming at him to be careful. But there was a louder, stronger part reminding him that he had to tell Hannah the truth sooner or later.

“She’s in Canada,” he chewed his bottom lip, considered if he should even say the next part. The part that June should get to tell her herself. But if there was any chance at all that this information could make a difference in long run, Nick had to take it.

“...with your sister.”

“Sister?” Hannah repeated with amazement. She knew her mother was having a baby, but it wasn’t the same as hearing confirmation that she was a big sister now. First, she thought about it. Then she broke into a giggle, giving Nick a playful shove, “are you lying?”

“He’s not,” Frances interjected, “he told me.”

Nick met her eyes. The worry in her expression softened to something else. Encouragement. Compassion. And it was exactly what he needed. She made him realize that this was the moment he never knew he’d been waiting for. This was the turning point for all of them, as long as he had the courage to open up far beyond what was comfortable for him.

So he took a leap of faith.

“Your sister’s name is Holly. I’m her dad.”

Hannah broke into a contemplative frown. She blinked, staring out into the trees ahead, absorbing all this information in silence for a moment.

FInally, she responded in a tone that could only be accusatory.

“Are you in _love_ with _my mom_?”

Nick paled, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He honestly didn’t know _what_ someone her age would say to such a heavy revelation in the first place, but he certainly hadn’t expected a reprimand. Before he could work out an answer, Frances burst into a boisterous laugh; harder than any he’d seen before.

“What?” Hannah looked back and forth between Frances’ fit and Nick’s dumbfounded stare as if there was a joke she was missing. “I’m serious!”

Nick rubbed a palm over his face, letting out a chuckle despite himself. Of course Frances found it funny. Here he was, opening up about his deepest, darkest secrets... only to get scolded by a nine year-old.

When Frances was finally done having a good laugh at his expense, she wiped tears of mirth from the corner of her eyes with her apron. “Nick, why don’t you tell us how Holly and her mom got to Canada?” she attempted to bring the conversation back on track for his sake, “surely it’s a good story.”

Hannah straightened, popping a grape into her mouth as she looked at Nick expectantly. He cleared his throat. Shifted into a more comfortable position. And then with unreserved clarity, he told them everything he knew about June and Holly’s fiery escape on that fateful night.

 

* * *

 

Ever since June left with Holly, there had been scarce sightings of Mrs. Waterford. More often than not, the Commander would use her absence as an excuse to commiserate about how they were adjusting to the tragic loss of their child. But Nick could pick up on the way his voice sounded a little too pleased that he had wrestled some semblance of control in the house from his wife.

Now, months had passed and as Holly remained rightfully out of their grasp, the Waterford scandal had been fading from recent memory. It was becoming more difficult to hide the fact that there was love lost between them.

Serena Joy was in the garden today, planting her bulbs in meek silence. Her hands were gloved, and you couldn’t tell that one finger was shorter than the rest. The payment for her transgressions.

Admittedly, Nick felt a little sorry for her. But pity was a tricky dance. He could never forget the tears in June’s eyes when she recounted Serena dangling Hannah in front of her like a carrot, forcing a grieving mother to see but not touch her own stolen daughter. One of many forms of torture she had to endure from that wretched woman.

Nonetheless, no one deserves to be maimed by the person they trust most. Nick was no friend to Serena Joy, but for that reason alone he wouldn’t turn her down when she asked for his assistance. Not that he was in any position to say no to his mistress.

Nick wheeled a barrow full of fresh fertilizer over to her spot in the garden, trying to avoid eye contact. Serena thanked him graciously. He nodded, turned to leave.

“Do you still think about Nichole?” she asked before Nick could walk away, and hearing that name on her lips punched him in the gut. It took the wind out of him. He gathered his senses, weighed his response, settled on something vague and pious that wouldn’t betray his feelings.

“I pray for a miracle every day, ma’am.”

“As do I,” Serena’s voice sounded genuinely mournful at first, but then she looked directly at him, her blue eyes piercing his and she added, “when it hurts, I like to visit baby Angela. Holding another child fills the hole in my heart... momentarily.”

Nick’s mouth went dry. There was something in her words, a hint of malice that was nearly undetectable unless you’ve lived with the Waterfords for as long as Nick has. But there was no way she could possibly know about Hannah, was there? _How?_ He’s been so careful, and she’s been so distant from the daily goings-on of the household.

Maybe he’s overthinking it. Maybe she really is just a bitter and lonely woman trying to connect with someone. But she was also mercilessly spiteful, and Nick would be wrong to forget that.

He tried to think of the right response, quickly. Aside from the clench in his jaw, he kept his face as unreadable as possible. “By God’s grace,” he chose his words with the utmost care and intent, “I hope that all parents could be reunited with their missing children one day.”

It was a probe. A suggestive statement— or an innocent one, depending on how much Serena knew. He tried to gauge her reaction to it in an effort to figure that out, but her face remained unflinchingly set in stone. She stared at him for a long minute, then shifted her attention seamlessly back to her gardening.

“Praised be His mercy,” she dismissed him.

Nick left as quickly as possible without looking conspicuous. He pulled off his working gloves as he climbed the stairs to his apartment two at a time. When he closed the door behind him and let out the breath he was holding, every instinct in his body screamed at him to go get Hannah and run today.

 

* * *

 

The following visit to the Mackenzie summer home was the most special one yet. Today was Hannah’s birthday.

It was her _real_ birthday, which she wasn’t allowed to celebrate under Gilead law. But Nick made sure to ask her about it on one of their walks so that he would never be unprepared should the day come. Unsurprisingly, she could never forget that date, even though she had been denied the acknowledgement of it for years.

In Nick’s hand was the black plastic bag he’d acquired a few weeks back. He kneeled before Hannah and gave it to her. She opened it quickly, revealing what he had bought with opiates in that sketchy, back-alley transaction at Jezebels— a small, bean-stuffed pegasus plush in cotton candy blue with shiny wings.

Hannah’s face lit up like Christmas.

“It’s so pretty,” she mumbled incredulously as she took the toy, admiring it, clutching it possessively to her chest. It was the most vibrant thing she had seen in a long time. She beamed at Frances, who raised her brows in a lecturing fashion to remind her of her manners.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then Hannah peered at Nick, almost expectantly.

“Okay, okay,” he sighed in resignation, and from his back pocket he pulled out the other item he’d bargained for at Jezebels: a small iPod with a pair of earphones wrapped around it.

“Here’s what you _really_ want.”

Hannah let out what could only be described as a contained shriek. She snatched the gadget and simultaneously launched herself into Nick, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug that nearly knocked him over. He caught himself and laughed, squeezing her tightly against his chest as she kicked her feet up in the air. He closed his eyes, basked in the feeling of making this child so happy— a child he had come to love as much as she were his own.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Hannah repeated in a muffled voice against his shoulder, clutching both gifts in each of her little fists. There was no forgetting her manners this time.

“Happy birthday.”

When he let Hannah go, her attention was immediately stolen by her new gifts— just as expected. She ran into the grass and plopped down cross-legged, only her curls peeking out amidst the wildflowers. Her pegasus was clutched in one arm as she scrolled swiftly through the list of forbidden music that was now entirely hers to enjoy.

“You spoil her, you know,” Frances said through a laugh she couldn’t contain. Nick didn’t deny it. He returned the smile instead, glowing with all the pride of a father.

“That was the plan.”

Hannah called Nick over with a frantic wave of her hand, and he followed her request to sit beside her in the grass. She handed him one of the earbuds so he could listen with her. “I like this song,” she explained, playing a Radiohead tune of her choice. Nick listened diligently, nodding at her impeccable taste. “It’s a good one.”

“It reminds me of my mom,” Hannah admitted quietly, “she used to sing this in the car.”

Nick blinked back the tears that always came at the thought of June. Suddenly, the song he was listening to took on a whole new meaning as he learned something new about the woman who stole his heart long ago. There wasn’t any way to explain to Hannah how much that tiny bit of information meant to him, so he simply wrapped an arm around her and hugged her against his side. In content silence, they watched the clouds pass by as they listened to music together.

They looked happy. They looked like family.

From a short distance, Frances watched the two of them have their moment. It was then that she realized she had come to trust this Guardian more than she ever thought she would. She knew before he left, he would have to take those birthday presents back and hide them until the next visit, even when the hurt was visible in both his eyes and hers. She knew he was deliberate and careful with their secret meetings, even when it meant not showing up and letting Hannah down. She knew that there wasn’t any chance in the world that Nick Blaine would risk letting harm come to this child— his own daughter’s sister, as she now understood.

Spending time with and observing this inherently benevolent person over the summer gave Frances the courage to have faith in something other than herself. Something other than God, even.

It let her have faith in hope.

 

* * *

 

On an average weekday morning, Nick was escorting the Commander through Boston in his usual diplomatic silence. This was the day that everything changed.

For most of the ride Fred sat quietly in the backseat, his presence as unsightly as ever. Nick kept his eyes on the road in front of him, submissively.

“Turn left here, Nick,” Fred broke the silence with a sudden but calm command.

Nick sensed something was off, could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He had no choice but to follow Waterford’s instruction. He clicked on his blinker and turned into a narrow driveway. At the end of this driveway was an entrance to an old parking structure, no longer in use now that car travel had been largely reduced.

“All the way to the top, please,” Fred’s voice carried that familiar gloating tone that Nick remembered from the night of his arranged marriage. That bad feeling in his gut grew more urgent with each floor they ascended, until finally they appeared in the bright sunlight of the rooftop level.

“Pull over here.”

Nick obliged, stopping the car in the middle of the desolate parking lot, his black Mercedes the only vehicle in sight. This  _ definitely  _ wasn’t good.

Once the engine turned off, Fred unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

“Step out of the car, please.”

Nick’s face was an unflinching mask, eyes staring forward resolutely as he braced himself for the unknown. He wasn’t scared of Fred, but his unpredictability worried him. Especially when he had found himself with another life to care for besides his own, once again.  _ Please don’t kill me before I can get Hannah out_, Nick thought in a silent prayer, and stepped out of the car.

Fred stood with his back turned to Nick, looking out into the skyline of Boston as he spoke.

“You probably think you’ve gotten away with a lot in my house. With my trust, my Handmaid, my child…”

Nick couldn’t help but flinch. Of all the horrible things Fred would be inclined to say, those last two words always hurt the most.

“But it’s time for me to put an end to it now, Nick.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I think you know,” Fred’s lips curled in the calmly sinister smile of someone who knew he had the upper hand for once in his pathetic life. Nick could feel the churning of uneasiness in his belly. “It didn’t take much for Commander Mackenzie’s driver to tell me about your visits,” he continued, even though he hadn’t even asked. “I suppose he had a low tolerance for pain.”

Nick scoffed in disbelief, a shudder creeping up his spine. Michael was young and had his morals straight. Now he was surely dead for it.

“The Eyes are on their way now,” he turned to face Nick with a malevolent glint in his eyes, and reached into the inside pocket of his coat, “but they wouldn’t question a Commander, should he be forced to defend himself, would they?”

Fred pulled out a small revolver and fixed it on him. The sight of a gun in his hand sent signals of panic through Nick’s body, making him take one unintentional step back. “Those are illegal for Commanders to have,” he stammered out, even as he knew deep down that it didn’t mean anything at this point.

“True. But there is precedent for protecting my family from the likes of someone who stole my child,” Fred pulled the hammer of the gun back with his thumb, the click echoing through the empty parking lot. “ _Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil_...”

Nick closed his eyes. So he would be just as dead as Michael soon, too. He’d thought about how he would die many times— fantasized about it, even. But facing it, he was scared.  _ Petrified  _ of the idea of leaving Hannah in the bloodsoaked hands of Gilead for the rest of her life. And there was June, who would never get to see her firstborn again. June, who  _ he  _ would never see again— never to hold, never to touch. His little Holly, whom he only ever got to feel in his arms  _ once. _ Who would never get the chance to remember her real father.

This is how it would all end. The tears stung Nick’s eyes as he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. Then – as he was coming to terms with his fate – Fred spoke again, pulling Nick abruptly from his thoughts.

“Though I have to wonder what  _ exactly  _ you’re doing to this child. Is the hole in your heart the only thing you’re filling?”

With that repugnant accusation, sickening realization dawned on Nick like daylight. Fred was speaking, but those were not his words.

Those were Serena Joy’s words.

What poison had she filled Fred’s mind with, this time?

Nick’s eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled back in a grimace. Now there was fire in his veins. His Guardian mask was slipping, and he couldn’t stop it.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret before I kill you,” Fred stepped closer, keeping the gun steadily aimed, “I can’t say I haven’t thought about it myself. The child does have her mother’s spirit, doesn’t she?”

And that was it. They had been building up to this moment since the day they met, and now Fred crossed the line. Hearing him talk about Hannah like that triggered something primal within Nick. He acted entirely on instinct, his feet moving him forward on their own. In one swift, trained motion, he struck the gun aside with an elbow and hurled his other fist into Fred’s face with such force that it knocked him off his feet. White-hot pain shot through his hand and up his arm from the impact.

_ Boom. _

Then silence.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening. It rang a high-pitched tune in Nick’s head as the world spun in slow motion. Somewhere in the distance was the heavy thud of Fred’s body hitting the pavement. Nick doubled over until the noise stopped roaring in his ears, his face contorted in shock and pain. Then with shaking hands, he checked his body for blood.

With what could only be an extraordinary stroke of luck, the bullet didn’t hit him. But the gravity of what just happened did.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and then louder, with severity, “ _fuck_.”

Nick did something spontaneous and stupid. He’s not one for spontaneous and stupid, not since Gilead. His heart was racing like a rabbit’s and his head swam from the loud blast of a gun so close to his ear. He shook his injured hand and stared in disbelief at Waterford’s limp body sprawled on the cement, frantically asking himself what the  _ fuck _ he just did.

In a panic, he knelt down and checked Fred’s pulse. Still there. No signs of blood except the gash in his face from Nick’s fist. The Commander will likely live to see another day. Whether that was a good or a bad thing, he couldn’t say— but it was all over now. Nick’s fate had been sealed.

He glanced around the quiet city. No sirens yet. No black vans. No one was around to witness, and no one would find Fred for a least a little while. This at least gave him a head start. So Nick forced his frozen limbs to move and stumbled back into the car, turned the engine over with trembling fingers. He sped down each level of the building quickly, his tires skidding, leaving Waterford alone and unconscious in the parking lot.

Now was the time to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to Hannah's song choice [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qFfFVSerQo) 💖


	4. in fear and faith

Nick pulled his black Mercedes into the driveway of the Waterford house with all the calmness of normalcy. But before he stepped out, he checked his face in the mirror. Steadied it. Made sure his Guardian mask was secured tight. Because underneath he was nothing but a man, terrified of what he was about to do.

His demeanor gave away nothing as he climbed the steps to his apartment, but once the door was shut he moved quickly. He opened the chest inside his closet and peeled back the layers of folded clothes, retrieving a hidden backpack and tossing it on the bed. He unzipped it, assessed the contents. Clothes, emergency blanket, flashlight, extra ammunition. Forged documents to get him through security checkpoints. A map of the New England area with all his escape notes scrawled on it. 

With quivering hands, Nick pulled the photograph of Joshua free from its frame. His bruised and swollen knuckles screamed in pain as he folded and tucked the precious photo into the breast pocket of his navy blue Guardian jacket, then packed it up with the rest.

Lastly, he switched his radio to the channel he used to reach his contacts from the neighborhood of the Mackenzie summer house. Someone who could get a message through the Martha network, and hopefully to Frances— a code that only she would understand. All he could do was pray that it reached her in time.

On his way out, Nick stopped and turned around to take one last look at his home. As horrible as most of his memories were, so many of his firsts with June took place in this very room. And when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the melody of her laughter echoing off the walls.

Then he turned away and closed the door of his apartment forever.

Checking for Guardians, Nick made his way across the grounds with his backpack slung over a shoulder. He prayed not to run into Serena Joy along the way. The kitchen was miraculously empty when he slipped inside the house, so he began to rummage quietly through the cabinets and collect whatever snacks and water he was able to carry.

He caught movement in his peripheral, and turned around to see Rita standing in the doorway, watching him with a rueful expression. Nick froze like a deer in headlights.

“You’re leaving,” she observed quietly.

His shoulders slumped, the adrenaline crashing down. Nick had grown so close to Rita over the years they worked and lived together under this very roof. She could read his face as well as he could read her sarcasm. And she was the only person who saw for what it was the thing that truly mattered to him— his family. The small life he built here in Gilead.

But she was part of that family, too.

Nick dropped his bag on the countertop and went to Rita, pulling her in for a tight hug. Her arms squeezed him around the waist and he kissed the top of her head.

“Come with me,” he breathed against her bonnet, knowing what her answer would be. But he could never leave without asking.

Rita shook her head, her cheeks wet with tears. “My time will come. This isn’t it.”

Nick closed his eyes as she pressed her lips to his cheek, lingering.

“Give you baby girl a kiss for me.”

He collected his packed bag and left the house feeling emptier than before. A part of himself would stay with Rita. The memories of the last six years of his life were written in these walls, little pieces of his soul anchored here like ghosts of the past. It was alarming as much as it was freeing.

As Nick loaded his bag in the back of the car, he took one last look at the Waterford house.

Serena Joy stood in the window of her bedroom, watching him.

His blood chilled when he met her eyes and saw the frosty resentment in them, the lines in her face deepened with contained rage. She could call the Guardians. She could get him arrested right now if she chose to. But then he would get her put on the wall for letting June escape with their baby, and they both understood the stalemate that left them in.

He knew she was the reason Fred tried to kill him. And now she would live knowing she was the reason Nick got away.

So he turned over the engine and left it all behind.

 

* * *

 

Nick drove a little bit faster now, the long car ride giving him too much time to think. Too much time to worry. His grip kept tightening on the steering wheel restlessly, making him wince as his knuckles throbbed. He prayed that his message got to Frances… and that she could get away with Hannah in time.

And that he wasn’t too late.

He carefully veered onto the dirt road that led to their meeting spot, parked and turned off the car. There was no sign of anyone yet. All he could do was wait.

Nick’s stomach rolled with anxiety, but he hadn’t eaten all day so there was nothing to vomit. He stepped out of the car and breathed in the fresh air. He tried to light a cigarette with trembling hands but dropped it, cursing himself as he bent to pick it up— and that’s when he saw them, hurrying up the trail.

The relief almost knocked Nick off his feet. The Eyes hadn’t come for them. Fred was either still incapacitated, or they were on their way now.

Frances caught up to the car, out of breath and her brows knitted in confusion. She gripped a concerned-looking Hannah tightly by the hand. “Nick, what’s going on? Our driver has gone missing today and Commander Mackenzie is already suspicious—”

“Waterford knows. He knows everything.”

Frances paled. “ _What?_ ”

“That’s why your driver is missing.”

The chilling realization of what that meant froze her and made her cover her mouth, quelling the urge to be sick.

Nick swung open the car’s back hatch. A few bags and trunks were stacked neatly, all fairly inconspicuous looking cargo. Some full of the usual government issued contraband, some full of emergency supplies. Among them was a large, green canvas duffle bag. He unzipped it and flattened it out. It was large enough to fit a child. Frances eyed it, understanding the plan.

“I bought us a head start,” Nick explained, “but not for long.”

Hannah was looking between Nick and her Martha, her face falling as the panic came creeping in. She was a child, but not stupid. She understood the fear in their rushed voices. Frances gently took her by the shoulders, her eyes pleading for her to understand the gravity of the situation.

“We have to go with Nick now, okay?”

“Where?”

“Just on a little trip.”

“When are we coming back?”

Frances hesitated.

Nick squatted to Hannah’s level and looked her in the eyes. After all their time spent together, he still had no idea what was the right thing to say to a kid in moments like these. How do you tell a child not to be scared when _you_ were scared witless yourself? Was there even a right answer to that?

They had no choice but to enter the final test of their trust in each other. So he coaxed it out of her the only way he knew how… by telling her the truth.

“It’s not safe to be here anymore.”

“But why?”

“Because those men in the black vans are going to try to take us.”

Hannah’s eyes had already began to fill with tears. Her breathing grew faster and she took an involuntary step back in reaction to a deeply ingrained trauma. “Hannah,” Nick shifted to maintain eye contact with her and gently grasped both her hands, trying to ground her with him. Just as he used to do with June when these attacks would wake her at night.

Frances rubbed comforting circles on her back. “Take deep breaths,” she instructed in a customary tone.

“What did I— what’d I do?” Hannah stammered.

Nick’s heart broke. He wished he had the power to erase these scars.

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything. Come here,” he gathered Hannah in his arms and hugged her securely. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I’m scared,” she stuttered between cries that wracked her little body. He held himself together with effort.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

They both gave her a few minutes for the panic attack to subside. When her cries finally slowed, Nick wiped her tears away with his sleeve.

“We’re going to go far away where they can’t find you,” Frances bent down to reassure her.

“To Canada?” she hiccupped, sharp and observant as ever.

Nick nodded.

“What if I don’t like Canada?”

“Then anywhere you want,” Nick forced a smile.

Hannah smiled in return— just a little one, punctuated with teary eyes. Then she let Nick help her climb into the back of the car.

“Your hiding spot. It won’t be for long, I promise.” She hesitated. “You know, when I was your age, my brother would let me listen to his music player when I got scared,” Nick explained, persuading her to let him assist her feet-first into the canvas bag. “He’d put his headphones on me, and it would drown out the world.” 

“Can I listen to music?”

Nick nodded. Once settled in, she was curled up on her side with her hands tucked under her chin. She took a deep, shuddery breath, looking up at Nick with an apprehensive resolve in those brown eyes.

She looked invincible, like her mom.

Frances leaned over to tuck her stuffed pegasus in her arms. “You’re so brave,” she whispered, kissing the baby hairs at Hannah’s temple, “don’t ever forget that.”

Nick pulled the iPod out of his pocket and helped put the speaker buds in Hannah’s tiny ears, left and then right. He gave it to her so she could pick the song, and she held the player tightly against her chest, closing her eyes as Nick zipped up the duffel bag, leaving a couple of inches open near her face to let in air. Then he closed the back of the Mercedes.

Once Hannah was out of hearing range, Frances turned to Nick. He could tell from her resigned expression that she had made a decision he wouldn’t want to hear. His stomach fell.

“They’ll kill you.”

“I’ll tell them you didn’t give me a choice.”

She didn’t believe what she was saying. They both knew that. It didn’t matter how she was taken, the message had to be clear to any others: losing a child is a death sentence.

“Don’t do this. Frances, come with us.”

“No,” she grasped his arm, the look in her eyes beseeching, “you know it will only hurt your chances. It has to be her. You have to get that child out of here.”

He shook his head, blinking back tears.

“ _Please._ Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”

The lump in Nick’s throat threatened to choke him. He didn’t want to accept it, but she was right— the chances were better this way. His hand came to rest atop hers as he gave the slightest nod. Frances’ face softened. She gave his arm a squeeze.

“You’re going to be a good father, Nick.”

With tears in his eyes, he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine. There was a moment of hesitation. He glanced into his rearview mirror to see Frances, her face set in forlorn resolution. He thought about her body hanging on the wall. He thought about Hannah never seeing her Martha again.

He thought about June.

And that gave him the perseverance he needed.

Turning off the car, Nick stepped out and threw the back hatch open one last time.

“What—”

“I’m not leaving without you,” he said decisively as he rummaged through one of his trunks. He retrieved a spare set of his navy blue Guardian clothes and handed them over to Frances. She looked skeptical, but when it became clear that Nick wasn’t going to change his mind, she conceded.

He turned around to give her privacy as she changed with haste. His clothes were ill-fitting on her, but a thick wool overcoat hid the most obvious of it. Luckily, the sun was beginning to set earlier and the early-fall chill was setting in, so at night she could get away with wrapping a long scarf around her neck that hid the bottom half of her face. She tucked her hair under a knit cap. Now, it was nearly impossible to discern her identity at a glance.

It had to work.

Slipping a pair of gloves onto his trembling hands to hide the bruising, Nick climbed back into the driver’s seat and started the car once again. Frances hopped in next to him, buckling up. They shared a look. Then he pulled down the dirt road and onto the highway.

 

* * *

 

As the sun disappeared behind the horizon, they slipped through the first two checkpoints with surprising ease. Waterford must have still been missing. Or he was dead. Nick tried not to think about it— better to keep his mind firmly on the present.

The further north they went, the more thorough the stops became. Security checks and searches were routine. Luckily, Nick had packed several different sets of forged identification, otherwise Frances never would have made it this far. A gruff-looking Guardian glanced over her paperwork and shone a flashlight in her eyes, making her flinch. On a normal day, Nick would use his status to tell these kinds of self-inflated grunts off. Tonight all he could do was look straight ahead in silence, his jaw clenching.

They were in the home stretch now, as long as they could get through it alive.

“Open the back, please,” another Guardian commanded. Nick’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, white knuckles under his gloves making his right hand throb with pain.

Wordlessly and without choice, he stepped out and obliged.

His stomach churned as he stood aside and watched a Guardian shift his assault rifle to his back and shuffle through the contents of the car. He was looking for stowaways between the trunks and bags. As he shone a flashlight over the green canvas bag where Hannah was hidden safely inside, Nick’s hand went instinctively to the gun on his hip.

The Guardian looked at him with an unreadable expression.

“All clear,” he grunted and closed the car door.

Nick let out the breath he was holding.

As they got back on the road, Frances tugged her scarf down and cracked the window to get some air. “How many more of these do we have to do?”

Nick reached into the cubby in his driver’s side door and handed Frances his map. “I think that’s the last one,” he said as she unfolded and flattened the paper in her lap, poring over the notes he’d scribbled on it.

“You’re right. We’re not far from the border,” she glanced back over the seats, “we should check on her.”

“We can’t stop here. Still too many patrols. Give it another thirty, forty miles and we’ll pull over.”

Frances sighed as she folded the map up. They could only hope that Hannah had at least fallen asleep by now.

Just as Nick said, they saw less vehicles and more trees, until finally it was just darkness stretching for miles. He pulled into an unmarked, decommissioned rest stop and parked the Mercedes in a patch of dirt behind the building where it couldn’t be seen from the road. When the headlights turned off it was eerily dark, the forest around them silent except for the song of crickets and frogs.

“This is it.”

Nick got out and went to Hannah first, hastily unzipping the green canvas bag. She was just as he had left her... except she’d fallen asleep. After a gentle shake, she blinked up at him through puffy, lidded eyes. He could tell that she had cried herself to sleep, even though he and Frances never heard a peep from her.

“You okay?”

She gave half of a nod as he helped her out of the bag and car with both hands, her legs wobbling with fatigue and stiff muscles as he guided her back onto solid ground. Frances pulled her close for a tight hug, relieved to have her back.

“Are we there?” Hannah mumbled as she leaned against her Martha, exhausted physically and emotionally.

“Almost,” Nick said, “we just have to walk a bit, okay?”

“I’m tired.”

It was clear she wasn’t going to make it far on foot. He’d carry her if he had to, but that meant they had to get a move on. He rifled through his backpack and handed Hannah a small jar of peanuts and a glass bottle of water he’d picked up from Rita’s kitchen. She perched herself on the car bumper, sleepily munching on her makeshift dinner while Frances removed her pink bonnet and cloak, then helped her into the adult-sized Guardian jacket Nick had handed her. It was big and hung precariously off her little shoulders, but at least she wouldn’t stand out among the trees.

Nick took a hurried bite of a smashed piece of homemade bread he pulled from his bag. His first and only meal of the day. He shared it with Frances, “to keep your strength up.” She was grateful. They finished off Hannah’s bottle of water, then Nick slung his backpack over his shoulders, closed up the car, and threw the keys into the trees.

He looked at Hannah, gripping Frances’ hand as she glanced unsurely around the dark forest. Their lives were in his hands, and the thought of that terrified him deep down inside. But they made it this far. So maybe they could make it all the way.

Together, all three of them disappeared quietly into the woods, leaving the car – and Gilead – behind.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, Hannah had long since fallen asleep. Nick carried her on his back, her arms and legs draped limply around him. At half the size of an adult, she was in no way easy to hold. His muscles were screaming with fatigue, yet he trudged on without stopping. There was no other choice.

Frances wore his backpack now. She kept a short distance ahead to guide Nick through the trees, weaving around patches of brush and helping him avoid roots and rocks. She had ripped a strip of fabric from the hem of the trousers she had borrowed and used it to cover the front end of the flashlight, allowing her to illuminate the ground enough to see without drawing attention. It was in this phase of the plan that he was beyond grateful for Frances’ help— without her, he’d have been wandering the forest in pitch black.

Nick’s map was only helpful to an extent when there wasn’t a single road or landmark nearby. But they had the stars, and his memories of a father’s lessons to a young son from camping trips gone by were his guide now. Whenever they came to a clearing in the trees, he’d glance up at the sky for the Big Dipper, then Polaris— keeping their direction oriented. Just as he was taught.

Now, as the night was coming to an end, through the leaves he could see the faint, distant glow of the coming sun. They had walked for almost the entire night.

Willing his heavy, aching legs to move without buckling, the three of them inched closer to a break in the woods ahead. As they stepped out of the treeline, they found themselves facing a wide open field of wild grass that nearly reached their shoulders. In the distance beyond, the forest continued. But they would have to make it across this meadow first, out in the open without any cover to hide behind.

Nick looked up at the sky. The stars were growing fainter with each minute as the sun rose. He was only half sure this was the right path, but he couldn’t think about the other half that had doubts. He could only think about the sleepy girl in his arms, and the brave woman at his side.

He hoisted Hannah up a bit – readjusting his grip under her legs – and continued forward. They waded through the grass with only their heads and shoulders visible, leaving a trail of disturbed foliage behind them. It wasn’t easy; the ground here was a little less stable, making his boots sink into dirt and exacerbate the burning in his muscles. The grass was itchy and unpleasant. Against all odds, Hannah continued to sleep through the scratch of it against her legs, her head tucked snug against Nick’s shoulder as she breathed soft and even.

They were about halfway across the field when suddenly a blinding spotlight descended directly upon them.

Nick’s heart nearly lurched out of his chest as both he and Frances recoiled from the brightness and ducked quickly beneath the tall grass. They tried to turn around but all around them were the sounds of approaching men. Military. He could hear them shouting orders at each other indistinctly as they surrounded the three of them. There was nowhere to run.

Nick looked at Frances. He could see the fright written on her face, the tremble in her body. He took her shaky hand in his and squeezed it tightly, silently telling her _I’m here._ She squeezed it back, closing her eyes.

He buckled to his knees under the weight of Hannah, who began to stir awake as he slid her off her back. “Come here,” he whispered as he took her in his arms, hugging her protectively to his chest. She blinked rapidly in drowsy alarm and cried out his name in confusion, but he shushed her gently as Frances huddled closer to shield her from the other side.

Ready to die protecting Hannah, Frances and Nick simply held each other for dear life as the soldiers descended upon them. Nick drew the gun holstered at his hip with a free hand, ready to shoot. Time slowed down. They waited, breaths held.

When he closed his eyes, all he saw was June’s face. Her genuine smile. Candlelight dancing off the shine in her hair. The green flecks in her eyes. The way his name sounded on her lips. The weight of Holly in his arms. The last things he wanted to remember before he died.

But no gunshots rang out.

No one was pulling him away.

There was only a single flashlight which shone directly into his face as its owner stooped down to their level. Nick’s finger was on the trigger as he squinted to see beyond the light that blinded him. Somewhere, a voice was speaking words he didn’t hear. Strange phrases. Sentences that blurred into one another. Through the blood roaring in his ears he could only grasp fragments: persecution. Home country. _Asylum._

This wasn’t Gilead military.

And the relief of that realization knocked the wind out of Nick. His gun dropped to the ground. His legs gave out completely as he fell onto his back, looking toward a sky that glowed a serene lavender. There were sounds coming out of him that he couldn’t stop, laughter and tears all at once as he felt with complete clarity the weight of six years in Gilead resting atop his chest. It was the most emotion any of them had ever seen from him.  Frances held onto a confused Hannah as she joined him in laughing, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dawn began to break on the last and first day of their lives.

They were free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's a wrap for nick's story in part one. thank you to everyone who has read this little fic of mine and left comments and kudos! 💖 break away will continue in part two.
> 
> as always, my [tumblr](https://aperture.tumblr.com/) inbox is open for chatting about nick blaine and nick/june 😍


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